


game point

by softlightwood



Series: becoming neil josten [2]
Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: M/M, aaron learns something about neil, vague descriptions of exy ft game violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-09-01 11:24:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16764193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softlightwood/pseuds/softlightwood
Summary: “Take his helmet off” Aaron instructs, when Andrew clearly isn’t responding. Neil hesitates. Part of him knows he has to, that its a necessary evil. The other part of him doesn’t want to do it without knowing that Andrew is cognizant enough to recognise Neil’s touch. He shucks off his gloves and unsnaps his wrist-guards first, careful to unclip Andrew’s helmet with a delicacy not often afforded on the court and slips it off slowly enough that he feels it right in his chest when Andrew’s head lolls back against the cold floor. “Someone get his jersey out of the way, the bastard got him in the stomach”“No” Neil snarls, not recognising his own voice.Aaron reaches forward and Neil smacks his arm away. “Josten, will you fucking-”“Neil”





	game point

**Author's Note:**

> one of the things i want to do in this series is explore aaron and andrew's relationship a little more (Its What They Deserve) and this idea came to me when I reread the conversation between neil and aaron at the cabins. again, I'm still getting the hang of characterisations so bear with me!!

As with most things, it begins with an act of violence.

Exy is a fierce and unforgiving sport, at the best of times. Neil _loves_ it. Loves the reverberating _clack_ of a racquet smashing into his own, the burning twist in his thighs as he flies from one end of the court to the other, the sensation of air being forced from his lungs at a rough check. It isn’t specifically the pain that he’s fond of. It’s the fight, the reminder that he’s alive and kicking and the worst that can happen to him now is an errant body-check or a twisted ankle. Today they’re battling the Breckenridge Jackals. It’s a dirty, violent, lawless sort of match – the Jackals are still furious that they were knocked out of the running the last time around and the sheer amount of yellow cards on the court today has Wymack swearing colourfully from the benches. The score is 8-5, Foxes favour, with fifteen minutes on the clock and it seems that the Jackals are throwing any modicum of sportsmanship out of the window. Matt scoops the ball away from the Jackals stumbling striker and smacks it up the court into Kevin’s waiting grasp; Kevin rebounds it against the wall and Neil snags it just seconds before a backliner steamrolls him into the floor. Across the court Allison is swearing something ugly and Neil focuses on keeping the head of his racquet pushed into the ground, ball trapped beneath it as he tries to regain his footing. His mark lifts a foot and for a nauseating second Neil sees it hurtling towards his wrist; Allison careens into the bastard at such a high speed that they don’t stop until the plexiglass forces her hand. It gives her a second yellow and she’s off for the remaining quarter, but Neil scores on the foul and comes away with his arm in one piece.

It fires up the opposition enough that the rest of game stays tangled up in the home quarter, defense being absolutely railroaded by a vicious striker line while Andrew knocks away errant attempts on goal as nonchalantly as if he were swatting at a fly. The Jackals striker, Wilson, is so utterly enraged that Neil can almost see steam leaking from his helmet. It would be funny if not for his notoriety as a violent player, evidenced as he fights Nicky for possession of the ball and stamps on the bend between Nicky’s ankle and his foot.

Nicky yelps and only stays upright when Andrew thrusts out his racquet for Nicky to grab hold of, eyeing him carefully through his visor. Nicky waves it off but he almost falls again when he tries to put weight on that foot again, and he turns to Dan with a defeated look.

“Motherfucker cracked something, I’m sure of it” he swears, “send on a rookie, maybe that little angry one”

Somehow the referee passes it off as an accident and when the doors open for Nicky’s departure, Allison ducks in to help him off and unloads a secondary torrent of abuse at the Jackals’ offensive line. They replace him with a whip-fast freshman, Riley, and the lot of them are angry enough that the score doesn’t budge again until the buzzer sounds, 9-5 to the Foxes. Exhausted, Neil slings an arm around Kevin’s waist and mumbles something incoherent toward the inside of his helmet.

Kevin asks, “what?” and Neil wiggles the helmet off to try again.

“I said, those assholes just get worse and worse”

“Yeah,” Kevin hums, “if they don’t bench the bastard that tried to break your wrist for the rest of the season I’ll call the ERC my damn self”

Kevin is getting steadily better at the idea of friendship, Neil thinks. Ordinarily he’d be awarded with a critique before the buzzer had even sounded; Kevin staunchly defending him was a pleasant change. There’s an angry _crack_ from across the court and the two of them turn in unison to see a scuffle between the Jackals offense and their defense; the noise had been Andrew slamming his racquet into the wall to get someone’s attention. Neil watches with some amusement as the guy chews Andrew out while Andrew stands, blank faced and undeterred. Neil pulls Kevin along with him as they edge closer to the ruckus; Andrew opens his mouth and says something too low for Neil to make out and before anyone can think to stop him, the striker brings his racquet around in one clean arc and pelts Andrew so hard in the abdomen that he crumples. The noise Neil makes isn’t human and he and Kevin take off at the same time, Kevin grabbing hold of enough common sense to shout “go straight to Andrew” – Neil had initially set his sights on choking the life out of the fucker who was stupid enough to go for Andrew but Kevin’s words sink in just fast enough for Neil to detour around him and slide to a stop on his knees just inches from Andrew’s limp hand.

“Andrew? Andrew, you with me?”

Aaron arrives then, steered into place by Renee who evidently had the sense to follow him onto the court, and Nicky isn’t far behind him.

“Take his helmet off” Aaron instructs, when Andrew clearly isn’t responding. Neil hesitates. Part of him knows he has to, that it’s a necessary evil. The other part of him doesn’t want to do it without knowing that Andrew is cognizant enough to recognise Neil’s touch. He shucks off his gloves and unsnaps his wrist-guards first, careful to unclip Andrew’s helmet with a delicacy not often afforded and slips it off slowly enough that he feels it right in his chest when Andrew’s head lols back against the cold floor. “Someone get his jersey out of the way, the bastard got him in the stomach”

“ _No_ ” Neil snarls, not recognising his own voice.

Aaron reaches forward and Neil smacks his arm away. “Josten, will you fucking-”

“Neil” and that’s Abby, crouching just behind Neil with the first aid kit under one arm, “can I please-”

“Do you have smelling salts?” Neil gestures to the first aid-kit and Abby hesitates, likely confused, but she dutifully rummages to the bottom of the kit until she finds some. Neil takes it, unscrews the lid with unsteady fingers and holds it a breath away from Andrew’s nose.

“Neil, they’re calling the EMT’s in. You’ll have to let someone see to him, you-”

Andrew comes to with a sharp wheeze. He sits up instinctively and Neil almost drops the salts in his haste to move away, wincing when Andrew lets out a low sound and lies flat again.

“Andrew” Neil says. Andrew looks at him, eyes searching his face. _For injury_ , Neil thinks. _I’m going to kill him_. “You’re hurt. They’re calling in the EMT. Can I lift your shirt so Abby can see?”

“I don’t want to go to the fucking hospital” Andrew grits out.

“I know” Neil tells him, “can I lift your shirt, Andrew? Yes or no?”

Andrew rolls his eyes, says “yes, Neil” and then something else flits over his face that makes Neil pause with his hand inches from Andrew’s stomach. “Just you”

“Just me” Neil confirms. He shifts to one side so that Abby can get a better look and peels the shirt back just up to the edge of his chestplate. There’s already a bruise, red and purple and starting to blacken in the middle in a thick stripe where the handle hit. Neil assumes the pain is what made him pass out and his fists clench at the thought of it.

“Andrew,” Abby says. Then she pauses, turns around and makes a complicated gesture that has Wymack blocking the path of the EMT heading for the court. When Neil looks the court is empty save for them. Kevin is standing by the door, eyes dark and one especially so due to the black eye he’s sporting. Everyone else is hovering outside the plexiglass by the goal, a silent show of support. “Andrew,” Abby starts again, “can I check if anything is broken?”

Neil watches Andrew’s jaw work, and he looks to Neil when he answers. “Over my shirt, you can”

He’s so very clearly warring between common sense and his own boundaries and Neil aches with it. In low Russian, Neil fumbles through a few words before settling on “ _my…face_ ” and he taps his scars in lieu of remembering the word, “ _if it helps_.” When Andrew wakes in the night with a scream behind his teeth, the only thing Neil has found actually helps is the myriad of scars covering his body. Often Andrew just needs to get out of the bed as fast as his legs will allow and smoke through a carton of cigarettes but sometimes, more often now, the bumpy ridges of scar tissue under his fingertips seem to ground him, remind him that its _Neil_ , he’s _safe_. Hopefully Neil can extend that safety net to this particular situation.

Andrew holds out an expectant hand and allows Neil to unfasten his large goalie glove, leaving the fingerless nylon inner where it is. They lock eyes and Andrew cups his hand over Neil’s cheek, fingers circling the burn scar that smothers his cheekbone and Neil tips his head at Abby in a _go ahead_ gesture. Andrew’s jaw works furiously to repress a sound when Abby prods and pokes but Neil can see the agony of it in his stern, unmoving eyes. After what seems like forever Abby sits back on her heels and announces, “nothing is broken”

Behind Neil, Aaron and Nicky let out twin huffs of relief and Neil relaxes just a little.

“It feels swollen and there's a lot of bruising. That _bastard_. You’ll need painkillers and a lot of ice. So long as you let me keep an eye on it,” and she slants a firm look at Andrew, “you won’t need a trip to the ER. Can you stand?”

It must be agonising but Andrew pulls himself to his feet with Neil’s help and allows it when Neil offers his shoulder for support; they hobble off the court to a supportive cheer from the Foxes crowd, relief palpable in the air. Their teammates smartly wait until Neil has hauled Andrew over to the showers – at Neil’s raised brow, Andrew hisses _I know how to take a fucking shower_ \- before they crowd around Neil in alarm. There’s a spread of bruises between the lot of them – Kevin’s black eye, Matt’s split lip, Renee’s bruised knuckles – and Neil feels warm that they’d jumped to Andrew’s defense.

Before anyone can ask after Andrew and before Neil can tell, Aaron grabs Neil by the shoulder and shakes. “What the fuck was all that about?”

“He wasn’t conscious” Neil says, as though Aaron is stupid. Aaron shakes him again, and Neil sighs. “Andrew doesn’t like to be touched. You know that”

“Yeah, but-”

“I don’t touch him without his permission” Neil says firmly. All at once Aaron lets him go, a little slack-jawed. Everyone else is looking at Neil as though he’d told them he had two heads.

Voice quiet, Aaron says, “you don’t touch him without his permission.” It isn’t a question, and Neil doesn’t give him an answer. “Oh”

Neil shifts. Nicky is somewhere behind Neil but he sounds choked when he says, voice careful, “fuck, Neil, that’s _so_ …”

When the rest of them put two and two together, the whole atmosphere softens. They remember what Andrew has been through, then. They realise the significance of Neil’s words. Aaron looks to be thinking about something, hard enough that Neil wants to suggest he might hurt himself. Eventually he asks, “has it always been like that?”

“Always,” and Neil’s eyes flick to Nicky briefly when he says, “consent is important to him. So it’s important to me”

“Huh” Aaron says, voice gone strangely quiet. “I deserved that punch at the cabins, then”

“Hold on,” Nicky whirls on them, “ _punch? At the cabins?_ ”

Neil waves him off. “Story for another day. But yeah, you really did”

Later, when Neil has cajoled Andrew into the passenger seat of the Maserati - _you clearly can't bend forwards enough to drive, don't be difficult, Andrew_ \- he feels Andrew watching him out of the corner of his eye.

"Staring," he mocks, and Andrew reaches out to shove at his upper arm. The silence lingers for a long time, and finally Andrew closes his eyes and tips his head back against the seat. Neil assumes he's checked out of the conversation, until he speaks.

"That can be my one unconditional yes" Andrew tells him. Neil frowns, not quite understanding. Beside him, Andrew huffs. "If I happen to be unconscious, in the name of fucking stick-ball. Then its always a yes, for you"

It shouldn't feel as heavy as it does but Neil is quietly staggered. That Andrew trusts him deeply enough to offer up an unconditional - it makes something burn in the back of Neil's throat and he blinks away the feeling before it can make itself known. 

"Thank you for trusting me" Neil says. 

"Be quiet. You're absolutely insufferable"

"Sure" Neil quips, "same goes for me, though. If I happen to get myself knocked out-"

"-which you likely will on more than one occasion, I'm sure-"

"-then you can do whatever needs to be done. I trust you"

Andrew doesn't dignify that with a response but Neil doesn't miss the tiny smattering of pink at the high point of his cheek. The both of them will have to learn to be a little more trusting of medical professionals, Neil thinks, if they're going to survive a career in Exy. Maybe another day, when Andrew isn't dealing with a severely-bruised rib, Neil will suggest he talk it through with Bee. Whatever Neil's personal issues may be, he can see that she's so good for Andrew and it makes him unreasonably happy that Andrew has her. He looks over at Andrew, glad for once that his focus is elsewhere so that he can't notice the adoration in Neil's traitorous eyes.

At Fox Tower the rest of the team are piling out of Matt's truck and Allison's little pink car when they pull in. Neil notices Andrew's eyes when they land on Aaron, and then those careful eyes are studying Neil.

"So. You punched Aaron"

Neil doesn't bother wondering how much of that particular conversation Andrew had heard. "Can you trust me when I say he deserved it?"

"Yes" Andrew says. It would be odd, but; if Andrew heard the conversation he probably managed to put two and two together, probably has an inkling of what Aaron might have said. That he isn't pressing the matter shows that he's not in the mood to be angry with Aaron today, so Neil doesn't try to explain. "What i would like to know is why you thought it was a good idea to be punching anyone, with the state your hands were in?"

"I never said it was a good idea" Neil reminds him. "You and I both know I'm not full of those"

"You are a mess"

"But you still keep me around"

"For now," Andrew concedes. _Forever_ , Neil quietly hopes.

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr @ softminyard


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